With These Wings
by Princess Twila
Summary: Legends and fantasies have always been Arthur Kirkland's passion. The possibility of superhumans is no exception. But as he explores more into this possibility, he is pulled into a web of deception, greed, an unquenchable thirst for power, and, possibly the most dangerous, a web of love. Mainly USUK. Rated T for violence and Arthur's foul mouth.
1. Chapter 1

**Helllllllllooooooooooooooooo o all! Thank you for opening up the link to this story!**

**Regretfully, I will not be continuing this story until I am done with the three other continuous stories that I am currently writing. If you're wondering why I posted the opening bit to this story, I just want to say this: I am hoping to get a lot of followers with this story, so I figured I'd give it a head start so that more people can follow it as the story gets longer and longer! So tell your friends, tell your enemies, and get everybody you know to follow this story! If I may say so myself, it's going to be a good one.**

**Disclaimer: While I may own the plot, I do not own the characters of Hetalia. If I did, I'd totally show up Funimation and make everything USUK…they're a lot of nutters for shipping FrUK.**

**Plot: This story is actually based off of a story (very nearly verbatim) that I wrote previously and then tweaked so as to fit in the Hetalia characters because I figured that the Hetalia characters were a good lot to tweak a story to fit, hehe.**

'Damn that Francis,' Arthur Kirkland thought blearily as he stumbled drunkenly up the steps. 'I always thought that he and I would be together…' The thoughts from earlier that evening made him sob again, causing him to nearly drop the bottle of brandy that he clung so desperately to and that had accompanied him ever since he saw the Frenchman entwining his arms and legs with those of the Canadian Matthew Williams.

Arthur brought the bottle up to his lips and let the last drops of brandy scorch his throat. He had hoped that by his second bottle, he would be drunk enough to forget about the fiasco and that the alcohol would burn enough to make him realize that there were more painful things in the world than being scorned in love; alas, not even this third bottle of brandy was doing either of these. His foot caught on the stairwell, and he collapsed, sobbing and scrabbling for the handrail. He lay there for a moment, the tears seeping from his eyes and the now shattered bottle spanning several steps in glittering crystal fragments. He picked himself up and hobbled up the remaining few steps, unlocking the door to the roof.

The cold night air quickly dried the tear tracks into lines of salt trailing down his cheeks as he forced himself to the edge of the roof. Foot catching on the uneven surface, he tripped again for the umpteenth time that night and slammed chest-first into the retaining wall. The city lights from below were glaring through his tear-hazed eyes, and he shut them, blocking out the painful glow.

As he lifted his foot to climb onto the retaining wall, he paused, a single thought working its way through his drunken stupor. His research…all his life, he had been scorned for his fantastical ideas of superhumans that roamed the Earth, living just out of the corner of the eyes…and then two years ago, he had received a grant with several others of his fellow scientists to research the possibility that there _were_ indeed superhumans. Francis Bonnefoy, Matthew Williams, Kiku Honda, and Feliciano Vargas were the four other men whom he conducted his research with. Receiving the grant was a victory for Arthur, the possibility of redeeming himself to the people who had scorned him his entire life as well as the chance to prove that he wasn't crazy. And yet the events of this evening had brought reality crashing down upon him. He was once again the boy left alone on the playground, except this playground was now a battlefield: the battlefield of love. Francis may not have known that Arthur was in love with him, but he had certainly flirted with Arthur to such an extent that Arthur had believed that the feelings were mutual. The alcohol amplified this feeling until it ate away at Arthur's being, starting with his extremities and finishing with his heart, leaving him feeling empty and bitter.

With these thoughts in mind, Arthur finished bringing his first foot up onto the wall, pulling the rest of him along behind. The wind nearly knocked him off balance before he was able to stand up properly. Finally, he was standing, forty stories in the air on the top of an old abandoned office building at the edge of the city, illuminated by the nighttime lights and yet deserted so that he knew his body would not be found even that morning, or possibly even the next morning. No, he wanted Francis to first wonder where he was, and then, only after a few days, then he wanted Francis to feel remorse for leading him on and for abandoning him.

With these thoughts in his mind, Arthur threw his arm up in front of his face and plummeted downwards through the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aaaaand the wait is over! I will be updating this story every Wednesday, so stick with us!**

_4 years ago…_

"Hey, Igster! Still got your head up in the clouds?"

"Yeah! Unless your fantasy people have invisibility powers so we can't see them, I don't think they're up there!"

Arthur Kirkland straightened his shoulders and continued walking, though his cheeks burned a bit at the insults directed at him. He'd learned due to past experience to not give such disbelievers the time of day.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you little punk!" Jonas Hastings stepped in front of Arthur, his face set into a slightly malicious mask of superiority. Hastings was an American dream come true, not just for the girls who found his tanned skin, muscular body, and streaked blonde hair a sight to swoon over daily, but also for his professors, in whose classes he excelled, and for his swim, football, and cross country coaches, all sports in which he was a master. He and Arthur had a bit of a rivalry going on; though Arthur was currently valedictorian in their Oxford graduating class, Hastings was salutatorian, a fact that didn't sit well with him at all. Thus Arthur constantly found himself as the butt of Hasting's jokes, especially since his research on superhuman beings had recently come to surface.

"If your current endeavor is to continue humiliating me for my scientific research, then I have no desire to help you. Please remove yourself from my path," Arthur said coolly. In response, Hastings just grinned and knocked Arthur's books to the ground with a heavy blow. He placed both hands on Arthur's shoulders and gave a push backwards.

"What are you going to do about it? Are you going to call upon your superhero friends to come and save you?" Hastings gave Arthur another shove, finally sending Arthur's righteous temper over the edge. He gave a heavy swing back at Hastings' face and was satisfied to feel that his fist had connected with Hastings' perfect eye socket. Arthur, from years of experience with bar brawling, quickly settled into a defensive stance, but he soon found that he was not to take Hastings on alone. Several of his jock friends came over to assist Hastings, and soon Arthur was being beaten to a pulp.

"Stop this nonsense this instant!" a clear voice rang out over the calls of "Fight, fight!" echoing around the courtyard. Arthur gasped in a painful breath before looking over to the person responsible. A tall, thin blonde with shoulder-length hair and a lithe figure like a cat came striding purposefully towards the brawl. While he was not flocked by any comrades, his air of dignity and superiority silenced everyone. Hastings scowled at the newcomer.

"Look, man, just turn around and walk the other way. This is none of your business," Hastings growled, his fist still clenched and bloodied from having punched Arthur.

"I suggest, Mr. Hastings, that if you want your public image to remain in good standing with your professors, you leave Mr. Kirkland here with me and return to your dormitories," the blonde man said, brushing a speck of dirt off of Hastings' blazer in a highly condescending manner. Hastings, who was forced to look upwards into the newcomer's eyes due to the six-inch height difference, gave another mighty scowl and motioned for his friends to follow him. Arthur was dropped to the ground, where he coughed up several clots of blood as he watched the students dispersing from the courtyard.

"Here, Mr. Kirkland," the blonde man offered a hand to Arthur, who took it gratefully though he showed an outwards scowl.

"Thanks, mate," he said.

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy," the newcomer said without preamble, a hand on his hip and an air of confidence surrounding his immaculately-clad figure. "I heard that you are applying for the Harriet Itzoe National Scholarship for the Research of Historical Science. I had both the honor and the pleasure of reviewing the draft of your application, and I saw that you did not have any co-workers for your project. I would like to submit my resume for joining you in your research, as the scholarship states that you must have a minimum of two additional members of your research team." With that, Francis handed Arthur a clean and organized resume. Upon scanning it, Arthur found that Francis was the valedictorian of the current graduating class, a year ahead of Arthur, majoring in genetics and human development.

Arthur knew that he rarely smiled, and he liked it that way. And yet, after only having known this person for five minutes, he gave him a genuine smile. "I thank you for your interest," he said. "But first, would you mind telling me what about my research intrigues you? As you saw earlier, I have many skeptics."

Francis lit up and launched into a lengthy scientific explanation. "Well, according to the research done upon histones, not all of our DNA is ever expressed, but sometimes, there is an environmental trigger that releases the histone, and the DNA can then be transcribed and translated…" Francis' enthusiasm upon the subject warmed Arthur's heart, a grateful change from years of scorn.

"Tell you what," Arthur interrupted politely. "How about I open a tab at Murray's tonight, and we talk about your consideration for this project?"

Francis gave a business-like nod. "I have one other colleague whom I believe would be quite interested in joining this project; would you mind very much if I invited him along tonight?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head. "He's quite welcome to join us, so long as he keeps what others might consider an 'open mind' regarding my research," Arthur replied.

"Tres bien. My colleague and I will see you at Murray's at seven o'clock?"

"Indeed. Until then…"

...

"Arthur, Arthur, what happened to your face?"

Arthur groaned at his excitable Italian roommate, Feliciano Vargas. "It's nothing, mate. Just that Hastings fellow again, except he had some cronies this time," he replied, stumbling to the sink and mirror and sucking in a breath at his split lip and black eye.

Feliciano smiled sympathetically and rummaged around in his desk for a first aid kit. Arthur took it gratefully, wincing as he applied some bacitracin to the split skin. Turning around, he noticed Feliciano holding out a long, thin bottle filled with a light, creamy liquid. Arthur scowled at him.

"For Christ's sake, Feli, I am NOT going to wear any bloody concealer! Concealer is for girls and actors! I am a Brit, and I wear my scars proudly!"

Feliciano cowered a bit at his roommate's wrath, but he stayed where he was. "You know how the professors feel about brawling; you wouldn't want to show them that you're guilty of such an offense!" he stammered.

Arthur gave another mighty scowl before snatching the tube from Feliciano's hand, sloppily applying the cream to the area around his eye before Feliciano stepped in and gently fixed Arthur's mess.

"So what stopped Hastings from turning you into a pancake?" Feliciano asked, putting away the first aid kit and the concealer.

Arthur splashed some cold water over his hair, toweling it dry as he stepped out of the restroom. Feliciano sighed and brought the concealer back out to patch up the spots that Arthur had messed up, and Arthur grudgingly allowed him to fix his handiwork as he spoke. "This chap called Francis Bonnefoy – he's valedictorian of the class ahead of us – interrupted Hastings and then proceeded to ask me if he could join me on my research. I'll be meeting with him and a colleague of his tonight for an interview."

Feliciano stopped what he was doing in surprise. "You actually let someone help you on your project? But you don't even let _me_ help you! I want to join you!" Feliciano whined.

"Sod off, Feli!" Arthur snapped. Feliciano stepped back, but his big brown eyes were watering and he looked so miserable that Arthur softened. Even though Feliciano was a history major, and Arthur had been refusing his help ever since Feliciano had found out about it, Arthur knew that it wasn't fair to him if he accepted help elsewhere when the Italian was certainly eager if not knowledgeable.

"Alright," Arthur sighed, watching Feliciano's face light up like a Christmas tree. "You're coming with me tonight to Murray's. And _no_, no wine," he added as an afterthought.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm so sorry for being late on the update, everybody! ...Can I use the excuse that I just moved back in to college and started classes again? *pulls big eyes* Anyways, I have a 3-day weekend coming up, so I'll be sure to get all my updates finished before I start my classes again next Tuesday so I can update next Wednesday. Thanks for dealing with the crap I dish out!_

"Sorry we're late, chap; traffic's a right pain in the arse when it rains," Arthur took a moment to regain his breath as he held the umbrella out over himself and Feliciano. Francis, accompanied by a medium-height Asian man, were waiting outside, each holding their own umbrellas to ward off the heavy downpour.

"Ah, no matter. Arthur, this is Kiku Honda, an exchange student from Japan. He is a genetics major concentrating in evolutionary theory," Francis introduced graciously.

"Hai. A pleasure to meet you," Kiku held out his hand to shake.

"Same. Francis and Kiku, this is Feliciano Vargas, my roommate and another potential candidate for my research team," Arthur gestured towards the excitable Italian, who proceeded to enthusiastically shake the hands of the two strangers.

"You cleaned up quite well after today's earlier incident," Francis remarked to Arthur as the group strode into the bar. Arthur scowled as his hand ghosted over his black eye, hidden behind concealer.

"It's all thanks to Feli, really," Arthur conceded grudgingly, steering Feliciano away from the wine racks.

"Cheers, mates," Arthur toasted the others after their drinks had been served. "Now tell me, Kiku, what is your background? And how did you find out about my area of research?"

Kiku nodded. "I was told about your project by Mr. Bonnefoy, and before I knew that you were researching the possibility that the extraordinary manifestations were directly caused by genetic mutations, I will admit, I was rather skeptical. As Mr. Bonnefoy stated earlier, I am a genetics major concentrating in evolutionary theory, and in my studies, I have come across many instances where the ability of the genome in question to mutate and adapt is rather astonishing, so I decided to abandon all qualms and to ask you a little bit more about your proposed research."

Arthur pulled a file out of his messenger bag. "This is what I'm proposing…"

_*A few days later*_

Arthur closed the glass door to the showcase after hanging up the notice concerning the debate team.

"Hey Kirkland!"

Arthur's shoulders tensed as he heard Jonas Hastings call his name. Straightening his frame, he turned and, with a cold glare, watched as Hastings approached him, accompanied by two of his friends. When he was a few feet away, Hastings made a move as if to punch Arthur in the stomach, and Arthur flinched away from the contact. Hastings and his friends laughed at Arthur's reaction to the false alarm, and Arthur's scowl deepened.

"So when's that Itzoe Grant application due?" Hastings asked.

"Please get to the point, Hastings; small talk does not suit you," Arthur replied icily. Hastings returned Arthur's scowl with one of his own.

"You better watch your back, Kirkland, or the grant isn't _all_ you'll be losing," Hastings threatened.

"What do you mean, '_losing the grant'_?" Arthur asked angrily.

"I mean that the application panel has better things to do than investigating fairytales," Hastings said, and with a flourish pulled a piece of paper out of his bag, throwing it into the air to flutter to Arthur's feet as Hastings walked away.

"Enjoy, daydreamer…" Hastings called out as waltzed off.

Arthur bent down to pick up the paper, flipping it to read the small print. His fingers started shaking as he read through the paper, his eyes narrowing and his thick eyebrows slanting dangerously.

"NO!" Arthur shouted, slamming his fist into the wall, his fingers clenched around the paper grasped in his fingers. "No, no, no!" _'This can't be happening,'_ he thought, a sense of panic and absolute dread spreading over him. _'That – that BASTARD CANNOT be applying for the Itzoe Grant, as well!'_ Arthur's breaths were now coming in short gasps, and his vision was tinged with red.

_'Why does he always have to be in competition with me? He probably is only applying for the grant to spite me and to attempt to thwart my chances of success!'_ Arthur ran a hand over his face, trying desperately to get his temper back in control. Finally, he was able to straighten his back, adjusting his tie before crumpling up Hastings' application and tossing it in a bin before heading off to class.

He could not, however, dispel the unsettling feeling he had at the prospect of going up against Hastings, once more, in his quest to research superhuman beings.


End file.
